Nurse Johnson threw aside her sewing and came to her side.
“Child,” she said, “what troubles you? Are you homesick?”
“Friend nurse,” answered Peggy abruptly, “my cousin doth not like me.”
“Why do you think so, Peggy?” asked the nurse quietly. “Hath he been rude?”
“Rude? Oh, no! I would he were,” answered the girl. “Were he rude or cross I should think ’twas merely his illness. Mother says the best of men are peevish when convalescing, but my Cousin Clifford is not cross. Yet he is surely getting well. Does thee not think so?”
“Yes,” responded Mrs. Johnson with conviction. “He surely is. He began to mend from the day you came. The matron, the doctors, the nurses all say so.”
“And yet,” said Peggy sadly, “’tis not because of my coming, nor yet of my care that he hath done so. It seems rather as though he were trying to get well in a spirit of defiance.”
“He is an Englishman, Peggy. Saw you ever one who was not obstinate? The nurses have remarked the lad’s frame of mind, and ’tis commonly thought that he believed that you desired him not to recover.”
“What?” cried Peggy horrified. “Oh, friend nurse, why should he think such a dreadful thing? I desire his death? Why, ’tis monstrous to think of.”
“A mere fancy, child; though why any of us should wish any of the English to live is more than I can understand. What with all the ravaging and burning that is going on ’twould be small wonder if we should desire the death of them all. But if he lives, Peggy, as he seems in a fair way to do, ’twill be owing to your care.”